


“When the Cowboys Gone.”

by Blue_Nox



Series: Blessed are the Meek [3]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arthur has a past he isn't proud of, Arthur is a rancher, Arthur is still sick in this fic but the New Austin air suits him better, Dutch and Hosea were never in the same gang, Dutch is John’s handler and he isn’t nice about it, Dutch is an ass in this fic, Gen, John Has Trust Issues, John just really needs a hug, Lack of self worth, M!preg, M/M, Omega!John, Slow Burn, alpha!arthur, he isn't a very good one, mentions of Annabelle, mentions of Bessie, mentions of Dutch van der Linde, mentions of Eliza - Freeform, most of the other characters are just boring humans, terminally ill Arthur, trigger warnings for miscarriage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:20:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24664528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Nox/pseuds/Blue_Nox
Summary: "In a world where Alpha and Omega’s were a dying breed; one man does his best to make it through the world with one foot in the coffin and the other on solid ground. Arthur Morgan is a man that has seen his fair share of heartbreak and has always managed to push through. When a greasy haired omega shows up at his door in the middle of the night, soaking wet and half dead, Arthur must make the ultimate choice. To continue on a path of self destruction or let the hurt of the past go and move onto something more. "Arthur Morgan isn't like most alphas but he's still Arthur.John Marston isn't your normal omega but he's still John.Both men have to learn to trust one another to heal in a land as harsh as Morgan's attitude sometimes.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/John Marston
Series: Blessed are the Meek [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1780609
Comments: 10
Kudos: 54





	1. When It Rains

**Author's Note:**

> The tags will be updated as the chapters progress. My laptop decided that it wanted to restart in the middle of the night and I lost most of the tags and information that I had on here. Just my luck. Arthur and John's backgrounds are slowly going to come together in each chapter that I write, hopefully.

There’s nothing like watching the sunrise over the mountains. The almost quiet of morning, save for the knicker of horses, the soft moos from the cattle grazing in the open field. The frogs and crickets gave up their own fight a little over an hour ago, giving away to the creatures of the day. The crackle of a campfire, the first sips of coffee to wake not only the body but the soul. There wasn't any dust in the air and that only told one thing to the man kneeling by the fire, it was going to be a very long, very hot day. A tin cup moves to the alpha’s lips, a long sip. A set of greenish-blue eyes survey the land around him. Word had gotten back to them that there were rustlers about but that wasn’t going to stop him. With eagle eyes and cat-like reflexes, Arthur Morgan was one of the most feared men in the west. His ranch, one that was located in the heart of New Austin, was one that not many people dared to mess with. Morgan wasn’t afraid to protect what was his, with his own life if it came to you. 

“Morning.” Charles Smith is one of the best ranch hands that Morgan has ever had. He's consistent in a life that has spun out of control more than once. Kneeling down beside the alpha and bringing his own cup from the depths of a worn brown satchel. “Gonna be a hot one today. Even the horses are restless.” Arthur does nothing more than glance in his direction before his own cup is tilted and the growing cold contents are flicked upon the ground. 

“I reckon if we can get this herd to Blackwater in one piece, we’ll be alright. If the wolves don’t get ‘em, the damn heat will.” He has a low draw when he speaks, one that commands his authority but at the same time, there’s something soft hidden underneath. Arthur was known for being a hardass; a man that expected the work to be done right the first time. A temper that he did his best to keep in check, a piece of paper in his satchel reminding him daily that this was his dream and that making it work was all that mattered. Knees popped softly as he rose from his stance. “I wish we could move them at night. Would make this whole mess a little more tolerable.” 

“But then we risk the wolves.” 

“Wolves, snakes, coyotes. All manner of predator out for an easy meal. I’m surprised them calves ain’t been took yet.” Jerky was taken from his satchel, ripped in half and one piece handed to his main ranch hand. “I do wanna thank you again for comin’, Charles. I don’t think some of these new boys know their head from their ass.” 

That got a small chuckle from his friend. “It’s what you hired me for, Arthur.” 

There was a peace between the two of them in a world where anyone other than a white man was looked down on. Charles Smith, mixed with black and Indian, stuck out like a sore thumb in most places. Arthur didn’t care about the color of a man’s skin, long as they were honest and worked hard. 

“I’m just countin’ down the days that we are off the trail and back home. I forgot how much ridin’ hurts my damn tailbone.” Charles did nothing more than shake his head at that. For a man that could afford any saddle he wanted, Arthur was one of the most humble men Charles had ever known. Usually spending more to care for his livestock and men than himself. 

“One day, you’re going to stop being a cheap ass and buy a decent saddle.” 

The alpha just shook his head, taking a brush from his saddle bag and giving his horse a once over. “That’s my girl.” It’s spoken silently against the mare's ear. She knickers softly. Kentucky Saddlers aren’t known for being very fast horses but somehow, Arthur had been able to push her to her limits and let her fly. Buttermilk Buckskin, she was a rare sight with both a black tail and mane. A piece of peppermint later and the mare is content to let him continue brushing. It was true, Arthur liked his horses better than most people. People hurt you, make you question your self worth. Horses are loyal, they might buck you from time to time but they always seem to come back. People have a way of leaving and they never really come back. 

“There’s rain in the air,” his companion spoke with a small sniff of the air. 

“Well, that’ll be different. It just don’t rain enough here.” The brush is placed back in his saddle bag. “Let’s get these cows to Armadillo and get back home.”

*****

He didn’t know how long he’d been wandering around in the dark. He knew that the rain had started only a few minutes ago. The drops were large and cold against what bare skin he had. Clothes ratted and torn in multiple places. Sharp, stabbing pain through his back and stomach burning hot. His arms wrapping around himself in an attempt to stop it, but he knew that he had to keep walking. Had to get away from it all. Cold, wet, hungry; 

He doesn’t remember how he got this far south, doesn’t remember how long he’d been running. All he knew was that they could be looking for him and through the pain, he had to keep going. 

That’s when he saw the porch lights in the distance. 

John knows that he should keep going, knows that there’s a chance that the people that live on this ranch aren’t welcoming of strangers. He’s met that so many times in the past but with the pain shooting through his stomach and his mind in a haze, he has to trust that they might help him. 

The rain still comes but the drops are tiny now and even in the dark, he can start making things out. It’s a rather large ranch and he’s slow as he makes his way up to the porch. It’s covered and wraps around the house itself and for once, Marston is thankful to whatever God made his feet walk this way. He’s not really sure where he is but anywhere is better than where he was. 

He doesn’t know how he found the strength to make it but something pushes him on. John’s body finally gives out when he’s under the wooden structure and he’s thankful for at least that. A small whimper escapes his lips as another round of sharp pain riddles through his belly. Curling in on himself and wrapping his arms tightly around him. The edges of the world go even more dark and he thinks that he hears horses coming up the path behind him. 

John doesn’t have it in him to fear who it is. He just wants it to be over.


	2. "There Ain't no Hero."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Come on,” his voice low as Charles helps him get the stranger to his feet. The dark haired man protesting with what little voice and strength that he has left. “It’s okay. We’re not gonna hurt you, partner.” 
> 
> John hears the words, feels his body begin to fade into darkness once again. Waits for the fall but feels nothing but strong arms holding him steady instead of the hard floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"Mentions of Dutch van der Linde in this chapter. It’s tagged for some strong suggestive language and situations that might make some uncomfortable. There is a lot of self-worth talk in this chapter because it explains a little about John’s background and how he came to be on Arthur’s porch in the pouring rain. There is the mention of rape in this chapter but I don’t go into graphic details. It’s just out of my comfort zone a little. "_
> 
> Yes, I know, it's a Dante's Inferno quote. lol

Pleasance House  
Cholla Springs, New Austin

**”Abandon hope all ye who enter here.”**

It’s a shameful thing, he feels. The same house on the dry prairie was one that most people with the right connections knew about. Where the belt comes undone and the pants fall down, when most of the roughnecks around town leave caution at the door and money on the nightstand. He never sees faces, doesn’t ask for names but knows that over half of the money goes to the man holding his leash.

Most of the men that John comes into contact with, they don’t ask questions. They do their business and leave. Every so often, he gets return customers. He’s had one real that he hasn’t broken in his years of doing this, alphas aren’t allowed past the porch. Usually, he smells them before they enter, meeting them with the door open and a gun barrel in their faces. Most of the time, they back off. 

This wasn’t the life that he would have chosen for himself if he would have had the choice, he supposes that at some point, he might have had one. His Father left the family when he was a baby. His Mother did the best that she could raisin’ him but at some point, even she left. Not being able to have the life that she wanted for herself and raise a child. John doesn’t know why he still makes excuses for her. Not knowing if she was dead or alive. There was talk, a few years ago from the man that had picked him up off the streets. Hushed whispers behind closed doors that his Mother had met her end at the hand of one of the men she’d decided to bed. If there was any feelings there, they died a long time ago. 

A wad of money is laid on the table, the man mumbling that omega ass was better than virgin pussy and left. He should be ashamed, but he has to eat. Has to make his handler happy but there are times that he feels there is something better out there. What he doesn’t know. A wash rag is dipped into the wash basin, he takes a moment to clean himself before pulling his britches back up. John knows how to shoot, knows how to take care of himself; he can read and write, all taught by the man that “saved” him from himself. 

A set of honey brown eyes stare back at him through broken glass. He’s too proud of a man to admit that this might have been the wrong road but it was better than the noose that was sure to be slipped around his neck. He’d been such an unruly teenager; short temper and fast tongue, not afraid to get into it with men half his age or size. John never figured that he would make it this far. He really didn’t think that as the hangman pulled the lever that a bullet would snap the rope in half and instead of feeling himself strangle, he’d hit the hard ground. 

That’s the day that he met Dutch van der Linde, a man that seemed to have a soft heart for hopeless cases and a passion for the rare Omega male. From that day forward, he was conditioned into just what Dutch wanted him to be, nothing more or less. Branded, he has the scar on his hip to prove it. _“You’re gonna make me a lot of money, son.”_ Those are the words that echo through his mind most days. When he was growing up, John always looked up to Dutch as a Father, someone to teach him. Now… he hates looking at him, much like he hates looking at himself. 

He’s scared, several on the right side of his face. They make him look ugly, he thinks. It’s one of the main reasons that most of the people that visit him come under the cloak of darkness. He doesn’t see himself as being handsome; skinny and nothing but arms and legs. He’s always been too skinny for his own good regardless of how much he eats. No, he wouldn’t say that he’s handsome, at least not in the face. 

A bottle rattles on the floor, his foot kicking it as he moves around. He really should clean this dump up but there isn’t a want to even do that. The moon shines bright on his back as he sits on the edge of the small cot he calls a bed. Hands rubbing at tired eyes and he does feel like he’s going to be trapped in this life forever. John thinks that no one is going to want him because he belongs to Dutch. Little does he know that he really belongs to himself and no one else unless he wants himself too. 

He always felt that there was a hole in the world, just waiting to step into it so it could swallow him up and he could forget everything. He’s never been one to think about killing himself, too much pride for that but this can’t be where his life stays. 

When he was sixteen and first presented, Dutch had told him that it was normal. He’d spent his first heat alone in some shack much like this one and it sucked. Pain and longing, his small cries for someone to make it stop still hung with him. No one helped him and Dutch didn’t get him anything to help with the heats until after the fact. John has always resented him for that. Now, he’s one a mix of herbs and roots to help with the pain. Something to help suppress his scent so that it doesn’t attract unwanted attention. There’s even some herbs for those times that mistakes do happen. 

“This is a damn mess,” his voice is scratchy when he talks. It’s been like that since he could remember. John Marston has never met another man like him. Hell, he doesn’t even know if any of them really exist.

*

It’s in the wee hours of the morning that he hears the horses ride up to the small house. John was used to late house calls but never more than one person at a time. A hand raked over his face, a small yawn escaped his lips and his sock feet hit the floor. This is no life, for anyone. Men weren’t supposed to use other men in such a manner but pleasure and release can be found in the most odd of places.

“He’s in there boys. I can smell ‘im. Right where he said he would be.” _Curious._

It’s a rough voice that he hears, one that he doesn’t register at first. It’s the other scents that hit him. Three alpha males, most likely men that he rejected before. John knows that he isn’t strong enough to take them on and his mind starts to race when the door is kicked in and a rops is lassoed around his slender frame. It’s the beginning to an end, the lasso is pulled hard and try as he might, he falls to the floor flat on his face. 

It’s all a blur from there. 

The world is still black when John wakes up. Three different but unforgettable scents buzzing around him along with the scent of whiskey and tobacco. He knows he’s in a barn because he can smell the hay and the livestock. He knows he’s still in New Austin because the hair is still hot and dry. They never remove the hood over his head as they have their way with them. It’s rough and painful, revenge for being rejected by someone of a lesser sex. By persons that felt an omega should have been happy to have been mounted by and taught a lesson. 

John had read one of Annabelle’s romance books once. Liked the idea of being wooed and courted by the right person. She hadn’t said much when she found the book under his pillow. John had had so many questions and she didn’t seem to mind answering them. Annabelle was such a kind soul and she was taken away by a knife to the side after being kidnapped. Dutch had never been the same. 

John didn’t give them the satisfaction of sound, even when they burned his skin with cigarette butts and howled at him like a mad dog. He suffered in silence, thankful for the hood over his face so they couldn’t see his tears. At some point, he must have passed out from the sheer pain of everything going on and deep down, he wished that it had been some sick dream, brought on by too much drink and too many meshed together memories. 

He doesn’t remember being dumped in the waste of the desert to die. Didn’t even know if Dutch would try some form of relation when it was all said and done. The three alpha’s didn’t seem to mind that he had a brand on his hip. John noted how much his body ached when he tried to get off the hot dirt, tried to ignore the pain in his stomach and lower as he coughed. John becomes aware that he’s almost naked, they at least left a pair of underclothes on him. He doesn’t know where he is going to go, doesn’t even know where he is and as the hot sand underneath his toes burns the bottom of his feet, he walks.

*

“This rain is gonna be the death of me,” it’s a dry cough as the words escape. The coat wrapped a little tighter around his body. Charles knows that Arthur is sick and has for a long time. When it rains, his lungs rattle and coughs seem to come more frequently. It’s the moisture in the air. They both know he’s going to die, but the dry air helps slow down the process a little.

“We’ll be home soon, Arthur, then you can hide away in your room with the fire burning.” Charles can’t help but try to make the air a little more light as Arthur coughs once again. It’s still dry which in itself is a good thing. The auction had not gone as well as they would have liked. Meat prices seemed to be lower than last year. It almost felt like the time of the rancher was coming to an end but they both knew that beef would always be in high demand. 

“Look, I can see the porch lights from here.” Charles yells out and Arthur has never felt better about it. He didn’t like being sick, didn’t like how weak and useless it makes him feel sometimes. If someone would have told him a year ago that this was gonna happen to him, he would have laughed. Luckily, he had a few people in his life that looked after him even if he was a stubborn fool. 

“Somethings not right. Stay here.” Charles speaks softly against the rain falling, rides out in front of him. He’s the best tracker that Arthur knew and the best friend that he’d ever had. 

“Arthur, come quick.” 

He might have spurred Artie a little too hard by the way she protests. Mud splashing against her legs and his boots as they ran the last few yards to the house. “What the hell?” The horse stops, he doesn’t even hitch her as he jumps off. Kneeling beside the half naked body on his porch, his hazel eyes scan him. “He’s pretty beat up.” Arthur is careful not to touch him for the moment. He can smell the omega on him, smell the distress and the pain rolling off this young man in waves. Hears his low whimpers, something that most omegas do when in distress and near an alpha. The rain slowly begins to stop. 

“Come on,” his voice low as Charles helps him get the stranger to his feet. The dark haired man protesting with what little voice and strength that he has left. “It’s okay. We’re not gonna hurt you, partner.” 

John hears the words, feels his body begin to fade into darkness once again. Waits for the fall but feels nothing but strong arms holding him steady instead of the hard floor.


	3. Window Watching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He’s an Omega, Hosea.” 
> 
> The older man arched a brow. “If you’re that worried about it, maybe you have a problem, Arthur.” His words weren’t harsh, a hand rested on a proud shoulder before he handed him a small pouch. “Herbs to help with his pain. He’s gonna need ‘em.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seven Bridges is taken from The Eagles song Seven Bridges Road.
> 
> **”Wake me up early, be good to my dog and teach my children to pray.”**  
> 

Seven Bridges Ranch  
Tumbleweed, New Austin

“He won’t stop thrashin’ long enough for me to look him over,” the voice is new. Not belonging to the two men that brought him into the house, being placed on the softest bed he’d ever felt underneath him. John’s mind was still a dark, fuzzy haze of the events that had led to this place. 

“His name’s Hosea,” it’s deep, a strong southern draw that whispers softly in his ear. The sweetest scent John thinks that he’s ever smelled in his life. Sandalwood, mixed with Indian tobacco and leather. He feels fingers, ghosting gently along his hairline. “You’re hurt pretty bad, cowboy. You need to calm down and let him see what’s wrong.” Against his will, a whimper escaped his lips. The tension in his body seemed to calm. 

Arthur looked at Hosea for a brief moment and nodded. There are always going to be aspects of being an alpha that he hated; one of those just happened to be pheromones and the way that they always seemed to affect omega’s. There are times though, like in this particular moment that they help. John was scared; he was hurt and they needed to know just how badly to be able to help him. 

It took Hosea almost two hours before he was able to see just the extent of John’s injuries. He was a fighter, even the most gentle of hand could figure that one out. Getting to the injuries on the inside were the most chaotic. 

“You’re gonna be okay, son.” It was a soft, older voice and a same pat on the shoulder but he still couldn’t help the flinch. It didn’t escape Arthur’s notice. He was allowed to stay because he was honestly the only thing keeping John calm. Hosea had got him to take something for the pain, a few layers of blankets covering his body. John couldn’t help but sink into the warmth. In the back of his mind, he thanked the stars that he had made it here. 

“He’ll heal but I’m worried about the emotional scars,” Hosea didn’t say anything until the oak door was shut behind him. Arthur was exhausted, sitting in a chair closest to the fire burning in the living room. “And he’s an omega.” Even his voice sounded tired. 

“He’s a man who's been hurt. What he is or isn’t ain’t what needs said right now,” the older man’s tone was almost scolding and it caused Arthur to look up. “They tore him up pretty bad inside, Arthur. There ain’t no bleeding but his life has changed and not for the better.” There's an annoyed huff from the corner. Even someone he didn’t know being abused was enough to make his blood boil a little, let alone someone like John. Men like him should have mountains of gold thrown at their feet, not this. 

“You gotta try to keep him from moving too much or else he'll pull out the stretches. Maybe you can get something out of him about the people that did this to him.” 

“You’re suggesting that he stays here?”

“Where else would he go? It’s clear even to someone as block headed as you that he isn’t from around here. Lucky the desert didn’t eat him up first.” 

“He’s an Omega, Hosea.” 

The older man arched a brow. “If you’re that worried about it, maybe you have a problem, Arthur.” His words weren’t harsh, a hand rested on a proud shoulder before he handed him a small pouch. “Herbs to help with his pain. He’s gonna need ‘em.”

*

There’s a small amount of light filtering through the curtains. A small groan from underneath the blankets as he tried to move, something gave with the action and he found that the position that he was in was better than nothing. He’s not naked anymore, he isn’t cold and he is thankful for that.

“Do you need something, mister.” 

The voice causes him to startle a little, causing something to pull and another groan escapes his lips. “Pa’s outside breaking in a mustang. He and Charles, I mean. He said that if you needed anything that I should help ya out cause your hurt and all.” 

“Water.” It’s a strangled sound and it doesn’t sound right to him. A dryness in his throat that he’s never felt before. It’s a dark haired little boy, couldn’t have been more than 10 that gives him a metal cup. “Uncle Hosea said that if you woke up thirsty, don’t drink too fast. It might make you sick.” John didn’t listen and he ended up choking a little. “Thank you.” The boy just nodded. 

“I’m Issac.” John watches him with dark eyes, sipping on his water now. 

“John,” he pauses. “Where am I?” 

There’s yelling from outside. A slur of curse words and laughing. “Seven Bridges Ranch just outside of Tumbleweed.” 

John blinked a few times before the tin cup was placed on the nightstand. Trying to sit up only to land back on his pillows. The boy rose, coming over to the bed. Standing there like a stone with one hand stretched to him. John arched a brow before taking it and he was helped to where he could sit up. “If you want, I can open the curtains. It looks out into the pin. You can watch Pa make a fool of himself.” Issac held such a bright smile, had the bluest eyes that John had ever seen. 

“It beats looking at the walls.” 

Issac chuckled, walking over to the windows and pulling the curtains back. The sun was blinding him until he got used to it, being able to see nothing but dust until it settled a little. “How old are you?”

“Almost 9.” His eyes never leave the window and soon John sees who he must be talking about. A man with a worn black hat, rope around the brim dusts himself off. _You’re gonna be alright, cowboy._ There’s someone laughing at him, perched on top of the fence. “That’s Charles. He’s Pa’s friend and helped him build this place.” John continues to watch. His eyes glued to the man in the black hat. 

The white dress shirt that he wears has the sleeves rolled up and John can make out the muscular arms. A red vest with gold tones, the back black with a silver buckle. “Your Pa don’t dress like no farmer.” 

“He ain’t no farmer. He’s a rancher. Don’t much grow out in the desert ‘sides cactus and tumbleweeds. Pa moved out this way after Momma died back when I was a baby. He’s from up north but never talks about it.” 

Arthur once again moves toward the stallion. It kicks before he raises his hands. John can feel his head tilt. The man who just got bucked and hard from the looks of it lowers himself slightly, almost looking like he’s bowing. John can see his lips moving but they can’t hear what is being said. “Pa’s really good with horses. Charles always pokes fun at him for it.” 

“Well, if he got bucked he ain’t that good.” 

“Even the best rider gets bucked, I reckon. Pa’s been teaching me how to ride. I’m still on a pony though.” 

It takes Arthur a few moments before the stallion stops moving around, his tail not swinging back and forth as fast. It takes a moment for Arthur to get the nerve worked back before he’s hoping on the horses back and it starts to dance. Bucking in the air with its head low, back arched. He’s got one arm in the air, his hand tightly wrapped in the rope. It is a dance and it’s one that John watches with curious eyes. “I used to know a guy that broke in horses for another feller. It didn’t look nothin’ like this.” 

“Pa’s one of the best around. This stallion is for a feller near Blackwater. Caught him wild but never could do nothin’ with him.” 

When he looks back out the window, the stallion is almost prancing as it runs around the pin. Arthur sitting proudly on top, the brim of his face shadows his face. “Do you know anything about the shape I’m in.” 

The boy turns to him then. “Just that Pa said to give you some herbs if you were feeling bad. Him and Uncle Hosea was the ones that patched you up when you got here. Pa said you had a spanish angel lookin’ over ya.” This one is smart for his age. Reminds John of someone and he can’t help the small smile on his lips. “Do you think your Pa would come in and talk to me.” 

Issac shrugged. “I don’t see why not. He’s nice and all once you get past it all.” John arched a brow at that as the boy disappeared out the door, shutting it behind him. John can’t help but look at the room. It’s not small but it isn’t large, the walls are slightly bare save for some paintings of animals and there is a large buck head mounted over the wall. A guest room he thinks before his eyes go back to the window, the little boy now sitting on the fence and talking with the gentleman in the black hat. Issac turns, points to the window and a set of dark eyes follow his movements. A hand, wearing a rifleman glove ruffles dark hair. 

There’s a small wave of pain that rushes through his body, reaching over as gingerly as he can as he picks up the same brown pouch. Herbs. He makes a mental note to thank this Hosea when he gets the chance to meet him, if he ever does. The last gulp of water and a sigh escapes his lips. He knows how he got into this mess but doesn’t know if he wants to return to the life he once led, but how does one stop doing something when that’s all they know. 

A knock… he wasn’t expecting that considering that it was someone else’s house. 

“Come in.” 

There is no more black hat, merely a head full of somewhat straight but wavy blonde sandy blonde hair. That’s when it hits him; underneath the sandalwood, something that causes John to feel a bubble of panic in his chest. 

“You’re an alpha.”


	4. Reflections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I can only help when he asks for it._ It’s written a little bigger than the rest of the text, written underneath the drawing of John’s face. He didn’t know the troubles that the young man had run from, didn’t know anything of his past but he was gonna be damned if he let someone come and drag him from this ranch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur’s POV somewhat. 
> 
> This chapter goes into a little more detail as to what is wrong with John at the pack of alpha’s hands. Mentions of rape. I tried not to go into a lot of details or get too graphic. We also get a glimpse of Dutch and Micha in this chapter. The _Italics_ are words written in Arthur’s journals.

_I am not a nice man despite what some folks think._ The shade of a tree after a long day on the trail was usually all that he needed to unwind. Charles used to make fun of him in the beginning for keeping a journal but it was Arthur’s way to reflect on his thoughts, a way to make sense of the mess that was his mind. Words, drawings, people that had come and gone in his lifetime. _I’ve done things that I am ashamed of but I’ve also done things that make me proud. Today is one of them days that makes me think about what I would be like if I still ran with Hosea. I got out because I wanted out, got out because I had to think about the kind of example I was setting for the kid._ There’s a fond smile on his lips as he sketches Issac’s face below the text. 

_Yes.. I’ve done a lot of wrong in my life, but there is something that I got right._

There’s a large chest of drawers in his room. He keeps what few clothes he has there, the rest of them are full of his journals, pages of the past that he forgets but keeps around to remember not to let history repeat itself. Arthur doesn’t read them much anymore, unless it’s to look up someone that he can’t quite remember. Old members of the gang who used to ride with, sketches of Bessie. Hosea had even given him a picture of the couple. It went right between the pages of a long winded writing that he’d done one night when he was still wet behind the ears. 

_My real Pa always used to make me feel like a sissy for liking to draw._ That small memory echoed in his head as the brim of his hat hid his eyes. The sun slowly went down behind him. It was Hosea that had finally got that mind set out of him, telling him of great men who had drawn and painted marvels around the world. It gave Arthur hope. His real Father wasn’t a Father at all but threw the beatings, the harsh words; Arthur vowed that Issac would never have to put up with a man that didn’t want him or saw him as a burden. His Mother always used to blame the drink, how he let the whiskey get a hold of him and not let go. 

Truth be told, Lyle was mean as a rattlesnake even on a sober day. Whiskey was no excuse. 

_I find it odd that we lost Eliza much like my own Mother. They both were such gentle women and they took everything with such wisdom. I cherish my son sometimes, growing up in a world without the gentle touch of a woman. I do the best I can by him but there’s just some things, I reckon, that I will never be able to replace. I remember when I lost my Ma the hole that it had left, even at such a young age._ The scribbling stops for a moment, another face coming to life on the page. Eliza. Oh how Arthur had adored her. _Issac looks more and more like his Mother everyday. For that I am thankful. I ain’t a good man, but I can try to be for him._

*

“You’re an alpha.”

As much as he hated being indentified by his secondary sex, it was something that he’d gotten use to over the years. He’s only met one or two Omega’s in his life and both of those were female. He stayed by the far wall, hands rose in the air at John’s words. He’d regard him much like he would a wounded animal for now, until there was some form of trust established between the two of them. 

“Arthur Morgan,” his voice was low, causing his tone to be more drawn out. “Issac said that you was up and feelin’ better and wanted to talk.” Arthur can feel the omega’s eyes going to his hip, looking at the cattleman pistol still sheathed. He never took it off unless he was sleeping in his own bed, too many bad memories of not having that pearl handle close. “I can promise you that you are safe here. No one is gonna hurt you no more.” 

“And how can I trust you?”

Well, he had a point. It was likely that alpha’s were the ones that did this to the young man. “I reckon you can’t until it gets earned.” That caused Arthur to notice the arch in John’s brow. 

“What’s wrong with me?” 

Arthur notes the dark eyes still glued to him as he slowly sits in a chair against the wall. “You were tore up pretty bad. Raped, beaten. Hosea reckons he don’t know how you made it as far as you did. There weren’t no bleeding on the inside but he did have to stitch you up a little. That’s why your bottom gives a little when you move the wrong way.” He could see John’s face fall before his eyes glued themselves to the window. Issac was now leading the stallion around the pen. The horse seemed all too happy to follow. 

“He don’t believe reckon you're pregnant but he mixed something in the herbs he gave you that might help with that.” Arthur’s tone was very low when he spoke, knowing that the young Omega was uncomfortable with the subject. His own pheromones seemed to mesh with them just to help keep a calming sense in the room. “You’re more than welcome to stay here for as long as you like.” 

That caused John’s head to snap toward him, always with a shocked look on his face before it disappeared. Here lay a man whose only kindness he’d ever known seemed to be not much of nothing. “And if you decide that ranchin’ is something you might wanna do, I’ll help you out as much as I can.” 

John cleared his throat. “Name’s John.” There was a pause, a nervous movement in his fingers as they twisted and untwisted around one another. “And thank you but as soon as I’m healed and able, I’ll be on my way.” 

Arthur cleared his own throat; he knew why it felt tight but he’d never voice his thoughts. Sweaty palms rubbed on worn jeans before he rose. “And that’s your right. If you need something, just let us know.” The door shuts softly behind him and he lets the long suffering breath he was holding escape bringing with it a cough. If the lungs didn’t kill him first, this Omega would. 

_He’s terrified of something. He won’t talk about it until he’s ready and I ain’t gonna force it out of him._ A sketch of John’s face appears on the journal to the left of the text he’s writing. Details right down to the scars on his cheek, the stubble on his chin, the lost look in his eyes. “I reckon he’s had a bad life; hardened by it in a way that I may never understand. I don’t know what it’s like to be an Omega. If one day he wants my help, I’ll give it to him. I reckon I can’t blame him for not trusting me neither. Alpha’s was what did this to him. I wouldn’t trust me neither.

“Arthur!” 

His name being called causes his head to rise from the pages of his journal as it shut. 

“Well, Sadie Adler.” There was mirth there. Arthur hadn’t seen his friend in months and she was long overdue for a visit. Sadie was like a sister to him, having met when they still ran with Hosea. Bounty Hunting and living on her own was what called to her after Bessie passed and the gang was disbanded. The fact that a bunch of outlaws kept such close ties with one another was better than most families. They talk like it was just yesterday, by a campfire beside the house and it’s something familiar that Arthur can cling to for the moment. 

“John, huh?” Arthur can’t help but arch his brow at that. 

“Sadie, don’t be reading into this. He’s just here until he gets back on his feet.” There’s a chuckle behind him as Charles walks up, hugging a standing Sadie before she sits back down and he joins them. “Besides, I ain’t got time for no romantic escapades. I got a ranch to run and a boy to finish raisin'." 

“That don’t mean that things can’t happen.” 

“Oh but it does,” he takes a small swig of whiskey before he suppresses a cough in his arm sleeve. “Sides, a dying man ain’t got no promise of tomorrow. I’m not latching anyone onto the fate of me.”  
His words cause Charles and Sadie to hang their heads a little. Arthur doesn’t talk much about his illness. He’s dying, slowly and that’s all folks need to know about it. He nods to both of them, retiring for the night before the cooler air sits in. 

“He ain’t doing no better, Charles?” She asks softly when they hear the door shut. 

“In a sense. The dry air helps greatly and the doctor says that his lungs are still clear for the most part. As long as he rests and stays in the dry air, he’ll survive but it’s a gamble. We both know he’s a man that never shows his hand.” 

_It was a robbery gone bad._ Arthur sits on top of his bed, dust covered sock feet crossed at the ankles. _The teller was coughing but we just figured that was because I hit him too many times with the butt of my pistol. I’ve had blood coughed on me countless times, I reckon it was just my time. They say all men eventually will pay for their sins. Damnation and Redemption comes in many forms._

There’s a light shuffle from the room behind him. John’s room; a curse and something falls to the floor. A groan and a set of feet hit the floor. Arthur feels that even in such a state, he’s a proud and foolish man but he doesn’t move himself. Just pays attention to the sounds around him. He must have struggled to get it because another curse is thrown along with something muffled about his stupid ass body. It makes Arthur chuckle a little. _Sometimes I wonder if you are looking down and shaking your head at me, Eliza. I am a stubborn and foolish man. I don’t want to die alone but I also do not wish to burden anyone with myself._

It’s a quiet sob that catches his attention. He can’t even begin to understand what John feels. The life that he had to live because of something he couldn’t control. He’d heard a few horror stories about what people do to male Omega’s and they always made his stomach turn. Something as rare as they were, you would think people would treat them more like a diamond than a lump of coal. 

_I can only help when he asks for it._ It’s written a little bigger than the rest of the text, written underneath the drawing of John’s face. He didn’t know the troubles that the young man had run from, didn’t know anything of his past but he was gonna be damned if he let someone come and drag him from this ranch.

*

“He needs to be found.”

There’s a bare of beady little eyes looking at a man wearing a red and white polka dotted bandana around his mouth. One sits atop a solid white Abrian, the other a Missouri Fox Trotter. “Dutch,” the voice feels like it belongs to a snake rather than a man. “I reckon we can’t stick around here.” A set of dark eyes just look across the abandoned campsite, there’s a look of disdain spread across his face. 

“I paid those men to scare him,” arms rest lightly on the horn of his saddle. “It looks like they bled him and dragged him into the desert.” 

“With this heat, you gotta take into account that he might not be alive.” 

The dark haired man scolded even more. “Find them. Bring them back to the hollow. I want to have a talk with them.” 

There was a wicked grin that spread across the lips of Micah Bell, spurs digging into the sides of his horse and a trail of dust behind him.

“I will find you, son and I will bring you home.”


	5. "Lead Me Home."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _John couldn’t help but arch a brow at that as he slowly made his way into the open. This house was big. It even had a set of stairs leading to a second story. “You okay?” The lead is laid between the book pages as he finally looked up. “Uncle Hosea said not to help you a lot, that you needed to learn to get back on your feet again but there is still some breakfast in the oven if’n you're hungry.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning in this chapter. John does have a miscarriage at the end of this chapter. 
> 
> It's also very dialogue heavy for several conversations.

“How are you feelin’, son?” The old man smiles at him, asking his question before taking a seat. 

“Tired of being in this bed. I’ve never used a pisspot so much in my life and I’ve been through some stuff.” 

Hosea can’t help but laugh at that. “I think you're well enough to get up and start walking around. The damage wasn’t too bad for the most part. The bed rest was mostly so that you wouldn’t pull anything loose but it’s mostly for rest. I’m Hosea by the way. I didn’t know if you’d remember my name or not from when I patched you up.” 

“Thank you for that.” 

“Oh, don’t thank me. If it weren’t for Arthur having someone come and get me, I’d have never known you were here.” His eyes wrinkled at the corners when he smiled. John didn’t know why that detail struck him. “You’re in a good place here, I can promise you that. These boys won’t let anything happen to you. And if I know Arthur as well as I think I do, he’d risk his life to protect anyone under his roof. Guest or not.” 

“Yeah, about that. I reckon that when I heal up good enough I’ll be on my way. Not too comfortable sleeping around the way from an Alpha.” 

“Well, with all things considerin’, I can’t say that I blame you but I can assure, that man isn’t like anyone I’ve ever met. Polite and respectful for the most part; everything has to be earned including his trust. I reckon if you let him know your intentions, he’d send you on your way with everything you needed.”

“Gun, a horse, maybe some food. That’s all I really need. I’ve been on my own almost my whole life. I don’t need no savin’.”

Hosea couldn’t help the fond smile on his face. “I remember those days, being young.” He rose from the chair, patting John on the knee. 

“Where is everyone today?” John couldn’t help but be curious because the ranch was eerily quiet. 

The older man walked toward the window, looking out over the dry plain. “They took a herd of horses toward Armadillo.” The stallion that Arthur had broken yesterday was still prancing around the pin. “It’s not like he needs the money, but he wants to make sure that his son’s future is secure enough that he don’t want for nothin’.”

“What happened there?” Another curious question and he kicked himself slightly for it. 

“That ain’t my story to tell, son.” Hosea moved to the door, opening it and stopping. “We all have a story, a past we are running from. I will say this; there’s a lot of hurt and still open wounds behind every door. You just have to sometimes be strong enough to stop running from them.”

“Thank you again, Hosea, for patching me up.” 

All he did was nod as he walked out the door and shut it softly behind him.

*

He didn’t know how long it took him to move from that bed to the door but there was a small sheen of sweat on his brow. He remembered hearing somewhere that the longer you stayed in bed, the worse the sore would be when you tried to move. Man, they weren’t lying but John was finding that the more he moved, the less it hurt. The door slowly opens, John straightens his back and walks out, trying not to look like the hurt man that he is.

“Pa ain’t here,” his head never came off the table, working on what looked like school work. “He’ll be gone for a day or so.” 

John couldn’t help but arch a brow at that as he slowly made his way into the open. This house was big. It even had a set of stairs leading to a second story. “You okay?” The lead is laid between the book pages as he finally looked up. “Uncle Hosea said not to help you a lot, that you needed to learn to get back on your feet again but there is still some breakfast in the oven if’n you're hungry.” 

“Thank you. I’m stravin’.” 

“Kinda figured you would be.” Issac smiled softly before getting up. John making his way to the table and wincing slightly as he sat down on the hard chair. He brought him back a plate with some meat and biscuits on it. Got some butter and jam out of the ice box. “We ain’t rich but we ain’t hurtin’ for nothin’.” 

His mouth watered as he tried to eat slowly, a fresh glass of milk being sat down before Issac went back to his books. “He says that you’ll be leavin’ once you start feeling better.” It was spoken in a slight matter of fact tone, his eyes once again never leaving his work. 

“Yeah. I got stuff of my own that needs to be done.” 

“All I’m sayin’ is that Pa could use another set of hands if you wanted too. He pays real good and Charles is always makin’ fun of him. He takes care of his men and his horses better than himself.” 

“If you don’t mind me askin’, what’s wrong with your Pa?” 

“Your talkin’ about the cough, huh?” John just nodded. 

“I don’t know the details. He won’t tell me.” Issac shrugs his shoulders. “I just know that he’s sick and ain’t gettin’ no better. I get kept out of a lot of stuff because I’m so young. He tells me that I’m not ready to be a man yet and wants me to work on my books.” 

John had finished his meal and then the milk. He had to admit that this was a lot better than that shack was any day but he wasn’t going to allow himself to even think about getting comfortable here. 

“Does it bother you?” 

“Huh.”

“Because of Pa is. Being an alpha.” 

Well, that threw John for a loop. Apparently, he’d taught his son something. “He’s always told me that there might be a chance of me prescenting because of him and Ma but I’ve not yet. Uncle Hosea says that I might be a late bloomer, whatever that means.” 

“I can’t lie and say that him bein’ an alpha doesn’t have something to do with it.” 

“Because you don’t trust them.” 

John felt his mouth going dry. “Issac, your asking to personal of questions.” It was a scratchy female voice that saved him. She was all blonde hair and looked like she’d just come in from the road. “Sorry.” 

“It’s okay.” 

“Sorry about that. Sadie Adler. It’s a pleasure to meet ya.” Extended hand and John looked at it before he took it. “John Marston.” 

“Well, I’ve heard a lot about you from this little feller,” Sadie ruffled his hair before taking a biscuit from the oven. “He’s been nothing but curious questions and no amount of answers seem to make him happy.” 

John couldn’t help but smile at that. “I don’t mind answering some of them.” Sadie sat down. The three of them talked until the evening hours about anything and everything. John kept the subject of too personal questions alone, simply telling Issac that he wasn’t old enough. 

“Maybe you should keep a journal.” John cocked his head to the side. “Pa keeps one always. Says that it helps with the thoughts he can’t voice. He never throws them away and sometimes I see him rereadin’ them. It might help.” He smiled at John before he got up. “I’ve got some chores to do. He’ll be sour if’n I don’t.” 

“Don’t let him lie. Arthur is always sour,” Sadie said it with a fond chuckle. 

“He’s not had an easy life has he. Everyone always talks so little about him. Kinda like a person walking on eggshells.” 

“He’s not had an easy life. His past, Eliza and Issac and then that bitch Mary. Everyone always wants something from him but they never want to be there for him. Arthur has pretty much taken’ himself from being a drunk idiot to this. And let me tell ya, when he first told me that he wanted to be a rancher, I didn’t think he was serious but here we are. He’s built this ranch from the grow up, him and Charles. Most of the ones that ran together in the old days went our own ways. Most don’t even come around no more. Then after the break, Arthur got sick. Eliza died and he was raisin’ a baby by himself. It was funny and sad.” 

She rose from the table, pouring both of them a cup of coffee. The orange glow from the sunset shining through the windows. “So what’s wrong with him?” 

“He’s dyin’.” She said it so matter of factly that it shocked him a little. “He’s been doin’ pretty good for a few years but before he actually came to where it was dry and was able to rest, we thought we were gonna lose him. But that stubborn bastard refused to die. Says he has too much unfinished business but he’s really just worried about his kid. These days, it’s hit and miss. If it rains, he’ll stay inside or work around the ranch. Charles always goes with him.” 

John finger was runnin’ around the rim of the tin cup slowly, soaking in everything that Sadie was telling him, letting everything soak in. 

“Kinda like the fact that his room is upstairs but he’s been stayin’ in the second guest room besides yours to make sure your alright.” She tried to hide the little smirk on her lips. John just looked at her with a slightly wrinkled nose. “Look, you’ve been through hell, there’s no doubt about that but Arthur is one of the good guys. He just wants to make sure that no matter who is under his roof is taken care of. He’s a good guy with a shitty past and got a bad hand dealt to him. He hasn’t played all his cards yet.” 

He finally took a sip of coffee, almost letting it get cold. 

“And I’m just gonna be blunt here; a lone omega doesn’t stand a chance out there. Most of the outlaw gangs are strictly made of alphas. They tear up the woman so bad sometimes that it makes you sick to your stomach. Just think what would have happened if you hadn't got away.”

“I didn’t. They let me go. Dumped me in the middle of the desert.” 

“That’s horrible,” Sadie just shook her head. 

John sighed softly, a wince as another sharp pain ran through his back. He just figured that he’d sat there too long. “Well,” Sadie clapped his gently on the shoulder. “No matter what you choose, it was a pleasure to meet you, John Marston.” She said his name funny but he smiled at her. Sadie had an unusual accent for the area and he just figured that she wasn’t really from around those parts.

*

A clap of thunder.  
Another sharp pain, this one waking him up from a dead sleep. Curling into himself with his hand around his stomach. That’s when he felt a gush of something warm from between his legs. Shit.

He knew that it wasn’t time for a heat. This didn’t feel like anything that he’d ever felt before. Yes, heat’s had been accompanied with pain that drove him insane but this… this felt hollow. The lamp on the nightstand was burning low when he reached to turn it up. 

Another clap of thunder and the blankets were pushed back. The sheets underneath were stained and wet with bright blood and he felt something drop in his stomach. This couldn’t have been from the gang. It was too soon. Was it even possible… from before? He was always so careful. Always so… He felt a panic bubble inside him as another way of pain shot through his belly. Gritted teeth and a muffled groan as his feet hit the floor. 

That’s when the rain started to hit the roof. Heavy drops that seemed to drown out everything. A flash of lightning. He thought it fitting. A summer storm on the plain. He didn’t know if it were the herbs in the bag that Hosea had left him or the gang’s actions. Hell, for all he knew, it could be Dutch’s. The thought made him a little sick. He didn’t even notice the bloody hand print that he’d left on the door handle as he opened it. 

Thankfully, the washroom was right across the hall. He could make it, if the pain would just stop. With everything going on, John hadn’t even thought that he might be pregnant and now there was a million questions running through his mind. What a time to be thinking about stupid things. 

“Stupid body,” it was swore beneath his breathe. Legs shaking as he stopped for a second in the hall, blood running down his legs and his stomach feeling like it was ripping apart. He couldn’t let anyone find him like this. The shame of it, he wouldn’t be able to bear it. Pins and needles, that’s what it felt like. 

Another clasp of thunder, he hadn’t even heard the door open and shut. Didn’t feel the arms trying to hold him up until it was too late. He was dripping wet. “Easy there, partner.” His tone was low as he spoke. It held no pity, only concern. John swallowed hard, trying to push him away but he found that he didn’t have the strength to do so. _Shame. Embarrassment. Shame._ He was glad that Arthur was there but at the same time he wasn’t. 

He didn’t want to be seen as weak but he had to remember that this was also the man that had calmed him down so someone could help him. 

“John, it’s gonna be okay.” He felt the ghost of fingers against his hot and sweaty hairline. “I’m gonna help you into the washroom, okay. Then you can decide if you want me to stay or go but I’m not leaving until you tell me too.” 

As he felt hot tears run down his cheeks, all John could do was nod, clinging to Arthur like he did on the porch not a week before.


	6. Cold One Coming On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I can’t be what he needs._ There’s a quiet little cough from him, fist going to cover his mouth as he moved from the chair. Journal placed back on the dresser before he took a blanket from the closet and made himself as comfortable as he could back in that damn chair. Arthur knew that he was going to be stiff in the morning. His body just wasn’t made for roughin’ it anymore. The rain hadn’t helped, having to stay in those wet clothes hadn’t either but he wouldn’t complain about it. Hosea had always told him that he was like a mighty Hickory tree. Always sheltering even when he himself had none.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter isn't the best. I started it and deleted it so many times over the course of the last few days. Sorry if it lacks a little, guys. No matter what I did, it felt rushed to me. 
> 
> Still has trigger warnings for miscarriage. 
> 
> Micah returns at the end of this chapter again. I'm not the biggest fan of him personally but he does help tie in some of the story together.

_When it does start rainin’ here, it seems to be a never ending thing. Until one day, the clouds part and the sun comes out again. It’s a pure thing; it can take something dry, cracked and make it into something new. After the rains, prairie flowers start to pop out of the ground, animals come out to graze on the grass. Life. It’s something that so many of us take for granted sometimes. Rain is pure. It washes away so many sins._

“How’s he doing this mornin’?” 

The Blackwater Ledger is spread open, never moving with the eyes that read it. “He’s upstairs, resting for now.” It’s spoken so matter of factly as a cup is taken from one of the cupboards and filled with coffee. Sadie always teased Arthur about how his coffee looked like black swamp water but this morning she didn’t. She also knew that Arthur wasn’t the type to let anyone in his room. Sadie merely made a little hum in her throat as she sat down. 

“How long you plannin’ to stick around for this time, anyway?” The newspaper crinkles a little as his own hand reaches for the tin cup and takes his last drink. It’s folded up just as neatly and sat on the table before he rose. 

“Well, I was wonderin’ if you wanted to ride with me? For old time sake.” 

There was a chuckle from him as Issac bounced down the stairs. “I would but I have more important things to worry ‘bout right now.”

“Mornin’, Aunt Sadie.” Issac smiles at her before getting a biscuit out of the oven, sitting down beside her and knifing at the jam that Arthur had left open. 

“So upstairs, huh?” 

“Who is upstairs?” 

“No one. Leave it alone, Mrs. Adler.” His tone gave off a small warning but all Sadie did was laugh. 

“That tone don’t work with me, Arthur and you know it.” 

He sighed loudly “Outside please.” 

The sound of his spurs against the wood jiggled, the front door opening before it shut behind Sadie. “What is it, Morgan?” 

He pinched the bridge of his nose and it almost looked like he was thinking before he spoke. Arthur didn’t like being harsh with Sadie, not too much. They were far too much alike for their own good. “I’m not the type of man to do whatever it is that you’re thinking happened last night. Marston was having an… a problem and I helped him. There was nothin’ sexual about it.” 

Sadie crossed her arms. “I’m not stupid, Morgan. I just like teasin’ ya. I’m not the type of person that would think you would take advantage of someone in his situation. Even if y’all do have strange biology.” Arthur sighed once again as Sadie laughed softly, clapping him on the back.

*

“You’re gonna be alright, cowboy.” Arthur’s tone was soft as he spoke, holding the shaking John the best that he could. He needed to get out of these damn wet clothes but he refused to move. The fact that he had a terrified Omega holding onto him for dear life didn’t have anything to do with it… for the most part. “It’s gonna be okay.” With one arm wrapped around his waist, small circles being moved with his thumb on his lower back, he could feel his scent working against John.

Charles always kept a small fire going in the stove that was in the washroom. Always a large pot of water on the top, never running dry. Always said it was because you never knew when you needed an unexpected wash. It didn’t take long for Arthur to get him into the warm little room. The lord only knew that Arthur wasn’t good with anything that had to do with emotions and had the comforting skills of a clam but somehow, he had managed to keep John from being in too much distress. 

“I just… I don’t… I didn’t even…,” John’s voice was even more raspy as he groaned through another small wave of pain. “I didn’t even know.” Arthur could tell that he was doing his best not to break down completely as he moved John to awkwardly sit on a pot. Dipping a small rag into the pot of water on the stove and kneeling in front of him. 

“I don’t know much about it either but I do know enough,” Arthur was a man that was able to keep his cool through a lot of things. Issac was his only child. He’s slowly wiped off John’s forehead before he felt hands going to his shoulders. John didn’t come out and say anything but he was terrified and it was rolling off him in waves; mostly from his scent. There was an undertone of shame mixed in with everything. It caused an alpha that had been buried for so long to growl slowly within the depths of his soul. 

Arthur couldn’t recall how long he had stayed there, knelt in front of this man that seemed to have some scars that matched his own and a strength that seemed to match his own. When he got the okay from John he took some rags and moved back into the hall. There wasn’t anyway in hell that he was gonna let this young Omega go through this alone. 

When everything was clean, from the hall to the guest room, he knocked back on the washroom door and waited until a weak ‘come in’ answered. He didn’t push for answers to the questions that were rolling around in his tired brain. He laid a clean dressing gown on the tub where it was within John’s reach and added some more water to the pot on the stove. 

“Can I stay with you tonight?” It was hoarse and whispered. If Arthur hadn’t have been listening, he most likely would have missed it. His back was still turned as he heard the slow shuffling of John changing. The gown had been Hosea’s idea where he was still healing from things. “Can’t wait ‘til I can wear long john’s again,” and it caused Arthur to laugh softly. 

_I am getting too old for this shit. I can honestly say that I feel years older than I really am._ The lead is moved softly against the page of the journal tonight. Sitting in a chair with his feet propped in the window sill of his bedroom. _I’ve got an Omega in my bed and it took him a good ten minutes to root around and wiggle before he got comfortable. I can’t even begin to image what he’s goin’ through right now. I don’t think he does neither. It’s so strange that after all these years, someone would find comfort in this scent again._

There’s a soft content little noise from his bed and it causes him to look up from his writing. The rain has stopped for the moment and the moon breaks through the clouds, giving him the perfect lighting. With a childlike curious nature, the page beside his thoughts bloom with a picture of the bed, John curled and wrapped into the blankets. _Heaven help me. I’m a dying man and the lord knows that my life has not always been a good one. I’m doin’ my best to leave something positive for the boy. Always for the boy, never for myself. What does someone like me need with things I can’t rightly take with me._

_What does someone like me honestly have to offer anyone? Some heartache further down the road when this godforsaken illness finally takes me. I can hear the rattle in my lungs a little bit more everyday. The doctors can’t tell me if I’m gonna make it another day or another year. It’s kinda like I have a timer over my head. I’m just waitin’ for it to count down. _Arthur reread that for the longest time. He wasn’t the type of person to dwell on things like this but after tonight, something in him changed a little.__

___I found happiness with Eliza for the short time that she was here. I thought that I might have been able to find that with Mary when Issac was still little but it turns out that that was a bust. I’ve just come to the conclusion that I’m gonna be alone. Do I blame them? Not really. I learned a long time ago that no one wanted an old outlaw. Too much past to even try and do anything good with the rest of my life but then… then I look at my boy, look at this place that I’ve made for him and I know that I can do good. Hell, I even told Sadie I couldn’t help her with bounties right now. Even if my finger did itch and I was wantin’ to say yes._ Another soft little sigh and it caused Arthur to look back over to the bed, some more details being drawn on the page. _ _

___Then there’s Marston. This man’s been through so much and yet he trusted me of all people to help him. He could have told me to go to hell tonight but when a body is hurtin’ that bad, sometimes it just wants to know someone cares. Hell, I don’t even know him that well but I do know that if anyone tried to take him for this place, I’d kill ‘em. I’m not so rusty that I wouldn’t put a bullet between someone’s eyes to threaten anyone under this roof. I can’t help but he curious ‘bout him though. As rare as male Omega’s are, someone has mistreated him bad and now, he’s lost a child. Hosea had said that it might happen. I reckon he didn’t even know he was pregnant. He’s strong. Life has made him that way. If it was different…_ He pauses with that thought, those greenish blue eyes glued to the full moon for a moment. _If I was younger and if he was interested, I’d make him my own and treat him the way he’s meant to be treated. Not used like he was someone’s property.__ _

___I can’t be what he needs._ There’s a quiet little cough from him, fist going to cover his mouth as he moved from the chair. Journal placed back on the dresser before he took a blanket from the closet and made himself as comfortable as he could back in that damn chair. Arthur knew that he was going to be stiff in the morning. His body just wasn’t made for roughin’ it anymore. The rain hadn’t helped, having to stay in those wet clothes hadn’t either but he wouldn’t complain about it. Hosea had always told him that he was like a mighty Hickory tree. Always sheltering even when he himself had none. _ _

____

*

“You ain’t nothin’ more than a glorified messenger boy,” words laced with venom before tobacco juice spit toward the tips of his boots. “I ain’t tellin’ ya shit.”

“Is that so?” 

A nod before the gun is drawn, hammer cocked and blood splatters on the tree that the old man was standing in front of. Micah rolled his eyes, there was more than one person he’d be able to get information out of even if he had to shoot them all. 

By the time that he rode out, there was smoke rolling from the farmhouse behind him, bodies littered across the ground and the farmer's daughter hogtied to the back of his horse. Little did he know that a small boy was hiding, watching as he rode away and ran in the only direction he knew where he could find help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I has a Tumblr now: https://sonofdutch9.tumblr.com  
> Anyone that wishes to follow it is more then welcome too and I will be using it to help post updates and screenshots that I take from the game. ^_^
> 
> I am really enjoying writing this story.   
> Feedback is always welcome.

**Author's Note:**

> I can't give dates on when this fic will be updated because my work sucks. I'll do my best to keep things consistent however possible.


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